AB Oneshots
by Sleeping-force's-inside
Summary: Oneshots set in the Angelus Bellum-Universe."Abaddon and Azrael Post-Eden Funtimes." Rating & Characters apply to latest Chapter
1. Meeting the Grandparents

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples: OC/OC**

 **Warnings:** **AU**

 **Chapter:** **One Shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'm going what?" Zeruch looked with wide eyes at his father over the breakfast-table.

Azrael smiled gently. "Going to meet your grandparents." He repeated himself, reaching for his tea as he did so. "My parents. It's long past time we should have done that. They have been demanding to see you ever since the adoption."

"Oh." The small child blinked a few times. "What... what do grandparents do...?" And what was he supposed to do _with_ them?

"Usually spoil their grandchildren rotten." Abaddon chuckled lightly. "They are parents who are all the fun and none of the rules and stuff." The General grinned. "We should probably plan a visit to my parents then as well."

"I'm not looking forward to that." The scholar countered, putting down his tea. "Look at what they turned you into."

"A perfectly fine warrior." The General told his fellow parent over the giggles of their child.

"Very debatable." Azrael leaned back lightly. "Now go wash up, Zeruch, we can't be late, can we?"

"Alright." Zeruch grabbed another sweet bun for the journey to the bathroom and fluttered out the room.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The young boy was clutching Azrael's hand when they left the portal. This was his first time outside of the White City and the nervousness at the change of scenery was re-activating long-suppressed Nephilim-instincts.

"It's going to be fine." The older angel assured him, touching down on the white stone of the outpost.

"Okay." The child really wanted Abaddon here as well, but a demon-assault on one of their outposts had called the General to the field.

"Abaddon will be fine." Azrael lifted him up, wrapping one arm around the boy to keep him steady on his hip. He briefly inclined his head towards the guards they passed as they headed into the central tower. "He'll join us when he's done."

"Okay." Zeruch looked around. It certainly looked like the White City, but there were guards at nearly every corner and hardly anyone was without armour.

"Azrael." A warm voice called out to them, a four-winged female heading down a hallway towards them.

"Mother." The scholar stopped moving, waiting until she had joined them. "Zeruch, this is Laylah, my mother, your grandmother. Mother, Zeruch."

The female was on eye-height with the child when she arrived. "Well met, Zeruch. I have been eager to meet you."

Half-hiding in his father's robes, the blue-eyed child let his eyes flicker over this new relative. "You're wearing feathers." He reached hesitantly for the white decorations of her outfit, missing how her eyes ever so briefly flashed with holy light and then narrowed.

"That I am." She chuckled lightly when he caressed the small dove-feathers on her shoulders. "One of few, I imagine."

"Where's father?" Her son asked, smiling at the sight of his child completely mesmerized with the small feathers. "In his office?"

"In the apartment." She answered, lifting Zeruch from his hip to place him on her own. "There, that way you can keep looking at them."

Both the elders snorted at Zeruch's bashful face. "Sorry."

"No problem." The female lead the way through the tower. "You're not the first. Azrael did that as well... though he was younger than you are."

"I was a baby." The scholar muttered softly.

"That, yes." Her skirt rustled when they entered a luxurious sitting-room. "They're here, Rahab."

Zeruch was struck by how dissimilar the rising angel looked to most other warriors he had seen. The male was easily among the tallest of angelic males, with wings as large as Azrael's, but far thicker and with eyes that looked like they could kill with a look alone. Even the armour was weird, since where most angels had silver-with-gold plate-armour, this male wore pure silver segmented armour that made him look like a large, dangerous insect. In short, the boy was terrified. He whined lightly, reaching over to his father.

"As approachable as always, father." Azrael indulged the child, taking him over from his mother. "You couldn't at least wear something else?"

"I am the head of the Garrison here, my son." The older male snorted lightly, a smile breaking through the glare customarily on his face. "It's literally in the laws that I must wear armour close to 'all the time'."

"You terrified your grandchild." The scholar dryly countered, patting Zeruch's back. "Zeruch, meet your grandfather, who taught your uncle all about being scary."

"Or being a warrior, which your father equates with the same." Rahab waited patiently until the child was looking at him before smiling gently.

"I'm not that bad." Azrael pointed out, caressing Zeruch's head. "Abaddon is just excessive."

The amused eye-roll of the eldest male broke the ice, making the child giggle.

"How about you two spend some time together while Azrael helps me get the lunch in here." Laylah spoke up in amusement. "I heard someone likes food." The look that her grandchild threw her probably meant something like 'best grandmother ever'.

Azrael put down Zeruch, following his mother into the kitchen. "You don't have enough food to overfeed him, do you?"

"Of course not." The female angel assured him, gesturing to the two platters of food. "But that's not why I asked for your help. I _looked_ at the boy. What I find concerns me."

"Oh?" Her son looked over at the closed door.

"He has no parents." Four wings twitched behind her back. "I see _nothing_ when I look at him. I can always see a person's parents and if I concentrate, I can see their whole ancestry. But with the boy, I can only see vague shapes... I had wondered why you did not ask for my assistance in finding his family, but you didn't because there is nothing to find, didn't you?"

"I know the boy's ancestry." Azrael sighed. "My problem always had been finding his family." He closed his eyes briefly. "He's a Nephilim. One of those created by Lilith."

It was tantamount to the trust his parents had in him that his mother said nothing, instead waiting for his explanation.

"I found him at the demons, that much was true. At first I thought he was an angel, only to realize all too soon he was not. But I hardly could throw him back to the demons at that point and the Nephilim were nowhere to be found."

"You risk much with this deception." She mused. "I will trust in your judgement, my son, but do make sure no one else finds out. There are plenty who do not trust you that much."


	2. Abaddon and Azrael's first meeting

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples: None**

 **Warnings: None**

 **Chapter: One Shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Abaddon was about two centuries younger than Azrael. By the time of the battle of Eden, that was a difference that no longer mattered in the grand total of the eons they both had lived, but once upon a time, those two centuries mattered a lot.

It was tradition that at the end of decade-long training program, warriors would follow an internship elsewhere in Heaven to get them used to the work they would most likely do for the rest of their lives.

Abaddon had been a prodigy from a young age. He had enrolled in the Special Classes at five – a record low at that time – and followed almost triple the classes of his peers throughout training. By the time the others were ready to be considered 'fresh recruits', he had enough experience to be a Lesser Wing-commander of the Champions. His teachers expected his internship to be just that, allowing their favoured student to perfectly roll into the higher ranks of the White City's military. And said student _knew_ this.

Things came a bit differently than they all expected. At this point in time, the number of the primarily-warrior Firstborn had already significantly dropped, most of the survivors no longer bothering with the training of their later generations. One of those that did bother was Rahab, long-time Keeper of the Well before he had passed that duty to his youngest child a couple decades ago.

He quite frankly ruined the plans the teachers had for Abaddon, something they dared not complain about.

"I am to bodyguard a scholar for my internship!?" Abaddon demanded incredulously, looking incredulously at the Firstborn in front of him.

"You are to bodyguard _my son_ , the Keeper of the Well of Souls." Rahab calmly repeated himself. "It is quite the honour, grandnephew. I have informed him you will begin your attendance at the beginning of next week. I expect you will perform to the best of your ability."

"My Lord, with all due respect, I…"

"That is quite enough." Rahab sharply cut the younger male off. "You _will_ be his bodyguard, you _will_ be there next week and you _will_ be finishing this internship. He will be the one grading you on your performance and his grading will have _my_ seal under it."

Abaddon's mouth slammed shut after that. If he received a poor grading on the internship, backed by a Firstborn, he could say his career farewell. No one would entrust him with men if a Firstborn doubted his capabilities to do so.

"Now if you will excuse me, I have more duties to attend to." It was an obvious dismissal, one that the young angel had no choice but to obey. He bowed lightly, leaving the office stiffly. To guard a scholar for two months! He could well have worked his way up two more ranks in that time and instead he'd be stuck playing babysitter to a paper-pusher!

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You are here early." Azrael arrived in his office in the Argent Spire only to find that Abaddon was already there.

"Of course." The warrior was standing just outside the office. "I take my duty seriously."

"Indeed." The scholar smiled lightly, moving his papers to one arm to open the door. "Join me then." He opened the door, leading the way inside. "I read your file. Most impressive."

"Thank you." The taller male followed him inside, remaining beside the door as the older male moved to the desk.

Azrael's mouth quirked up in a smile. "It will be hard for you, having to entertain yourself, won't it?"

"Sir?"

"My duties leave you little to attend." The Secondborn sat down in his ivory-wooden chair, gesturing to the couch at the side of the small office. "You seem to have lived a busy life. I daresay you will receive more time than you know what to do with whenever I am here."

"Doing my duty will keep me busy." The Thirdborn stiffly sat down, looking almost indignant at the statement.

"No doubt." The silk-clad man smiled still. "Should you feel the need, feel free to take one of my books." Without further words, he turned his attention to his work, leaving the priced pupil of the warrior-trainers on the couch.

It was a habit that lasted for weeks, much to Abaddon's consternation. He felt cheated at being forced to waste his talents for something as trivial as sitting in the Argent Spire all day to guard a scholar, Secondborn as he might be. Even the few visits to the Well of Souls proved uneventful.

"You seem bothered by something, Abaddon." Azrael confronted him as they walked through the Argent Spire one day. "Is ought alright?"

"Everything is fine."

"You don't act like it." The scholar had an inkling as to what was wrong with his bodyguard. His father had after all told him as to why what could well become the greatest warrior in Heaven had been assigned the eventful position of a scholar's bodyguard. "You are performing admirably."

"I am doing nothing." The warrior almost hissed. "I am wasting my time. You are under no threat whatsoever. You don't need a bodyguard."

"Have you considered that my father did not assign you to me as a bodyguard?" The Gatekeeper countered. "Perhaps he was trying to teach you something, oh great one."

"Don't mock me!"

"That is not mocking." The older angel stopped walking, moving his books aside to face the warrior behind him. "You perform your duties admirably, but you are proud. Too proud. You would damn all just to see your pride fulfilled. I am the Gatekeeper, Watcher of the Well of Souls. By my will, my mother, Laylah, Firstborn Archangel of Conception, has souls to allow people in all the worlds to conceive. My power, fuelled by the Well itself, surpasses even Michael's in terms of raw reserves." He spread his wings, as of yet without the runes as he would gain later in life. "And yet, here you are, a mere lieutenant of lesser worth and you _dare_ imply that guarding me is beneath you!? You are proud, grandson of Briathos, too proud for your own good."

"I am realistic." Abaddon countered. "You said you read my file. I am a full-fledged Champion, capable already of leading men into battle while others are still wondering at their path in life!"

"And you would kill them all. It is not always about _you._ My father saw this flaw just as glaringly as I see it now." Azrael moved over where he had put his books to retrieve them. "Just because something is 'beneath you', does not mean you ought to disregard it."

"I am not disregarding it. I just think I am better suited for other duties."

"If you insist." Azrael mused. "I have changed my plans for today. It is beyond time that I spar with someone again. If you are so certain that you are destined for better than a mere bodyguard, you will have no trouble to give me a fight worthy of my powers."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

What followed was one of the most humiliating experiences Abaddon experienced in his life. The small sparing-match, held on an empty plot of land near the Tree of Life in the Maker's realm, was short and brutal against the warrior. He failed to land a single blow against his partner and was subdued within a disturbingly short time. It certainly broke his pride.

Despite this, Azrael gave him a glowing review for his internship and the Third Generation rose through the ranks easily afterwards. They became close friends after the internship.


	3. Abaddon and Azrael's Post-Eden Funtimes

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **M**

 **Couples:** **Azrael/Abaddon**

 **Warnings:** **M/M**

 **Chapter:** **OneShot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me **

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Well, you need to be rewarded, General." Azrael got up, reaching for his robes. "For quite a few things, I might add."

"Oh?" The prone male's mouth-corner quirked up. "Such as?"

"Winning the battle." The outer-robes landed on the ground with a soft sound. "Coming back alive." The under-tunic landed on a chair. "Bringing our son back alive." One powerful flap moved the scholar onto the bed. "And a couple other things."

"I think I can live with having to do that this week." Abaddon chuckled, pulling the other down. "I can imagine how you'll reward me, old friend."

"Can you now?" Long wings spread around his form as Azrael snorted lightly. "Might you have gained some brains along the way?"

"You rubbed off on me." Heaven's General reached up, meshing his lips to those of his fellow parent. "Well, reward me then."

"As you command." The scholar sat up again, moving to sit beside the other male. Abaddon pushed his blanket off, caressing the silk-clad thigh of his lover.

Both angels were smiling gently at one another. "So eager."

"To the glee of the City." Azrael returned to his seat on the other's legs, leaning down for more kissing. Neither of them wanted to pull away, but lack of air eventually forced them to.

The warrior's smile widened at the sight above him, the slender male already blushing bright red. Perhaps due the complete turn-around in roles his wing-injury necessitated. He'd certainly enjoy it though, if only because of the view.

The other male seemed to have guessed his train of thought, leaning down to reconnect their lips for another hungry kiss. He promptly gasped softly when the calloused hands of the male beneath him started moving under the waistband of his leggings, massaging the pliant flesh there.

Abaddon grinned rather evilly at the sensually moving angel above him, thrusting his hips upward to feel more. He dug his nails into the soft skin, eyes brightening with lust at the breathless moan he was rewarded with. Azrael's head was thrown back, revealing the graceful curve of his neck.

The warrior dragged one of his hands up, caressing the soft, flawless skin of the scholar's chest. Unlike his own, it had no scars whatsoever. "Perfect."

Shining white eyes turned to look at him, their owner blushing furiously. "Not by angel-standards, old friend. We talked about this."

"And I informed you it is by my standards." Abaddon managed to reach the other's neck, pulling his partner down again. This time though, he didn't kiss him, instead reaching for the inviting chest, driving his teeth into the bronze-coloured pecs of his lover.

Azrael jerked in his hold with a cry, driving his hips down hard. The General's hold was too strong for him though, forcing the scholar take the 'abuse' heaped on his heaving chest. Slender hands clawed at his shoulders, hips jerking against his own.

His other, weaker hand moved back to the waistband of the scholar's leggings. At least he wasn't wearing one himself for convenience's sake.

The mystic was making breathless sounds almost continuously now, bitemarks peppering his chest while Abaddon held him motionless. Runed wings spread wide, filling the room as their owner became more and more aroused at the treatment.

"Can you fetch my wing-oil?" The prone angel whispered, almost equally breathless at the way his partner looked.

The Gatekeeper was trembling when he moved to obey, a thin sheen of sweat reflecting the light pouring in through the coloured window taking up an entire wall. "What do you need it for?"

"I think you can imagine." A golden light surrounded the small bottle when Abaddon levitated it over. "Now get back here."

If it had been possible, Azrael would have become redder even while obeying. The warrior immediately reached up again, gripping his lover's neck with one hand. The evil grin was back when his other hand pulled on the silken pants, ignoring the sound of tearing fabric. The scholar gasped again, legs tightening around the hips beneath him.

Heaven's finest Champion chuckled lightly, pulling down the head for another breath-taking kiss. Both of Azrael's hands gripped his head, even as his body jerked while the warrior pulled the remnants of his clothes apart.

"Prepare me." Abaddon was really enjoying this, feeling the lust burn in his veins. "Use that mouth of yours, scholar." His grin widened at the shocked expression of the angel above him morphing into a sensual smile. The scholar allowed him to push his body down, pulling down the underwear as he did.

Caressing his fellow parent's cheek gently, he wound the hand into the long hair. The warrior's eyes burned as the scholar did as ordered, opening his mouth and pressing open-mouthed kisses over the bare flesh in front of him before taking it as deep as it could go.

The sight of the Keeper of the Well 'debasing' himself in such a way always left Abaddon both humbled and entirely on fire to the point where only the humbled part of his psyche – always wondering how _he_ had become the one to receive this honour – kept him from downright fucking the skilled mouth. This time however, he was not so much humbled as filled with victorious glee; it was his, this sight and privilege, his alone.

He moved his hand to the back of the scholar's hand, white eyes meeting his through white hair. They widened when the warrior gave into old desires, fucking the hot and willing mouth as much as he could while being forced prone.

Another surge of firey lust passed through his veins when seeing Azrael move to take it, both hands supporting him on the bed. The long and elegant wings were twitching uncontrollably now, showing just how much his partner was enjoying this treatment.

"Now this, I could do forever." Heaven's finest warrior smirked, lions tightened as he came closer to orgasm. "Too bad I like your ass more, old friend."

Letting go, he beckoned the slender angel up. The light of his eyes brightened when seeing the bulge trapped in the ruined pants. Azrael was panting, lust shining in his eyes with an intensity his partner had rarely seen.

He pulled him back into his lap, fingers digging into the thighs above his. "Oil."

"Here." The scholar handed him the bottle, pulling off the stopper and throwing it aside. "Having some Nephilim-tendencies, Abaddon?"

"Perhaps." The General poured some over his hand. "C'mere."

The First Mystic scooted forward, curling his fingers around the headboard of their bed.

"Now this is a nice view." His clean hand closed around Azrael's neck again, tightening briefly to a lustful moan.

There was something obscene about trailing his oiled fingers down the scholar's cleft. After all, the necessary spells for men to make love were taught in the mandatory health-classes around the age of sixteen. It should be nearly impossible for any of them to have to resort to something as barbaric as having to use oil.

He thrust his finger in, grinning at the breathless moan of his lover. The scholar jerked forward, whimpering at the rapid succession of fingers.

"Enjoying this, scholar?" Abaddon grinned, moving his three fingers in and out quickly. "Such defilement for a Second-born." He spread his fingers abruptly, almost laughing at the yelp above him. "Want more?"

"Creator…" The scholar's knuckles were white with the strength he was holding onto the carved wood. "Yes." He had never been one for drawing things out, much to Abaddon's pleasure.

"Well, you know where it is." He laughed at the glare of his lover, pulling back his hands and resting them on the slender hips. "Don't leave us hanging."

"You. Are such an ass." Azrael broke, chuckling as well. "'You know where it is'. Idiot."

"And yet, you're still doing it with me." Abaddon reached for the pants, tearing them the rest of the way.

"To my eternal damnation." The scholar rolled his eyes lightly, leaning forward lightly. He bit his lower lip while guiding himself down, trembling at the feeling of being spread wide.

The warrior snarled, resisting the urge to thrust up and speed it up. Unlike with spells, oil required carefulness for most of the beginning of lovemaking. On the upside, it was amazing when the scholar had sunk down completely, being far tighter than he normally felt.

The slender angel took shallow breaths, muscles tightening around the male beneath him. Abaddon decided at that moment he'd fuck the other angel senseless the moment he was allowed out of bed. "Move." He growled, just barely resisting the urge to start manhandling the slighter male. By now, he was also done with drawing this out. Not even a day ago he had been doubting he'd ever get this chance again. Sixteen hours ago, he had thought he'd die on that battlefield. Now, he just wanted to possess every last bit of his lover.

Azrael started moving, hands returning to the headrest as he moved on his fellow parent. Breathing heavily, Abaddon helped him move, hands holding on so tightly that he might well leave bruises. He did not care about that, moving his beloved as fast as he could. Reaching out with one hand, he tore the rest of the leggings, leaving Azrael only with the two pant-legs.

Moaning, the angel on top sank down hard, uselessly thrusting into empty air now that his cock was free from its' confines. "Please… Creator…"

"Move faster, and I'll consider it." Abaddon moved his legs, allowing him to thrust upwards harder. The male above moaned, head thrown back as he was barely holding onto the headrest. "Creator, you're so good." Throwing his head back as well, he took hold of the other's erection, pumping it furiously.

"Abaddon…" The scholar gasped breathlessly, every muscle tightening when that pushed him past his breaking-point. In turn, Abaddon growled while coming inside the scholar.

They both collapsed, breathing heavily. Wrapping one arm around his lover, Abaddon used his other hand to pour energy into the ward beside their bed that contained cleaning-spells. That, he was not doing by hand.

"I can keep doing this for the rest of the week." He pressed a gentle kiss to Azrael's head.

"Glad to know it." The scholar pushed himself up, meshing their lips together for a languid kiss. "You still have two rounds."

"So cruel." The warrior chuckled lightly, caressing the mystic lovingly. "You wound me so."

"Less than the Nephilim though, I bet." Azrael snuggled in, covering the both of them with his wings.

"Very debatable." The General wove another spell, fixing the pants he had torn apart before pulling his blanket over them as well.


End file.
